Mutant Wave Meets Rocky Outcrop

One day a rocky outcrop which, eroded by the ocean,

long before had ventured far from its parental shore,

was treated to a very different visit than, in general, the sea

forbore to undertake: rearing from the breaking surf 

emerged a surge of animated interest – word made water,

as it were – a mutant wave which braved the meeting out

of curiosity to see if sea could learn, were it to turn abruptly 
into unimaginable immobility, what it would do or know or be.

How does rock behave? Of course, there’s no such thing

as unimaginable to a wave. Labile as a dream, a wave,

and surely this one which so craved to know, could

readily unlock the rock – wield the ardor of its watery flow

to make this mountain fragment yield its bedrock scheme –

reveal what drives the adamantine act, not as dream but fact.

A gleam of clear companionable yearning passed, without

resistance, from the wave into the seeming impassivity

of this great mass of asymmetric stone. It met full receptivity

as it presumed to seep more deeply into the basilica of silica:

“Do you feel alone?” it asked, though hadn’t meant to.

Waves are bent by definition by promiscuous intentions:

they are the front line of uncharted water. Easily perplexed

and vexed, one never knows what they will favor saying next.

But from some geological phenomenon of mind within

this hunk of granite, was finally opined an enigmatic answer.

In a gentle shock, up to the surface of its mottled grey-brown

skin, it cracked the thin enigma of a smile. The wave

was quick, as waves are always quick, to open up the hint.
"Ah," it glinted back, “I guess I’d known that all the while.”

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